


To End All Wars (the Hold Tight Remix)

by EachPeachPearPlum



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2018 Camelot Remix, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Epistolary, M/M, Minor Character Death, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-16 11:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14810655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum
Summary: What Gwaine writes (and doesn't write) to Merlin from the battlefront.





	To End All Wars (the Hold Tight Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViridianJane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianJane/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hold Tight to our Sovereign's Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696161) by [ViridianJane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViridianJane/pseuds/ViridianJane). 



> Gabby, it is an honour and a privilege to create something for you. You were going to get a long-winded Merlin/Freya love story, but you mentioned that you were thinking of writing something else in your Indigo Twilight series at some point, so I figured I'd leave that one to you. Instead, I offer you this thing of angst and war and probably not at all what you were expecting...
> 
> Thank you to the mods for keeping this fest going, and to K for the beta.
> 
> Please see end notes for warnings.

_Love_ , Gwaine writes, because that's as specific a greeting as he can get away with in a letter that’ll pass through so many pairs of hands and under so many pairs of his eyes before it reaches its destination. This is fine, safe and neutral, and the worst that’ll come of it is his superior officers will think he’s the kind of twat who uses terms of endearment because he’s got so many women on the go he can’t remember who he’s writing to. Harsher things have been said about him, after all, and it’s not so many years since it would have been true.

Besides, whatever aspersions it casts upon his character, it’s infinitely better than the alternative, for either him or Merlin.

_I’m writing to you from… actually, I’ve got no idea. So many borders, and you know how bad my sense of direction is — God only knows where I am today, but I’ve got a pen and paper and, for a little while, I can pretend I’ve got you too._

He never lies, because lying to Merlin is unforgivable. He doesn’t tell him the truth, either, because that would be just as bad. Merlin thinks Gwaine is travelling, somewhere far, far from the war, and Gwaine is perfectly happy to let him keep thinking that. He’s worried enough about Arthur being out here, worried that he’s not going to come back, and if he finds out Gwaine is at the front too… If Merlin ever finds out, no medical exemption is going to be enough to keep him from following them, and there is absolutely nothing Gwaine won’t do to keep him from facing the things he’s seen out here.

_I’m sleeping outside, mostly_ , he continues, because that’s the safest and most neutral way to describe the inches of mud that line the trenches and how it’s still preferable to the snoring that fills anything even close to a sheltered spot. _Camping, I guess you could say, though it’s a far cry from camping with you. Colder, for one thing. Lonelier, for another._

_I saw a man die today_ , he doesn’t write, will never, ever write. _A boy, really. He must have been eighteen, but he didn’t look much more than twelve. He was pale, and terrified, and I saw a bullet hit him in the forehead, right above his left eye. He was just a child, and I watched him hit the ground. I watched blood run down his face and I watched him die._

_You remember the first time we went away together?_ Gwaine writes. _There was that lake you wanted to draw, out in the middle of nowhere, so we decided to make a weekend of it. Late September, maybe early October, and way too cold to be sleeping outside, not that that stopped us. You spent the day with your art and I spent the day watching you, just watching. Maybe I don’t get everything you create, maybe I never will, but I know you love it, and I love you, and I could have sat watching you forever. We sat there until sunset, then toasted bread and sausages over the fire and talked for so many hours. It was this perfectly clear night, and you said you’d always wanted to fall asleep staring up at the stars, so that’s what we did, the fire on your left and me on your right, because maybe I was happy to sleep out in the elements if that was what you wanted but I wasn’t going to let you get cold._

_And do you know the worst part, love?_ He will definitely never say, because war is full of terrible, awful things, things Merlin has no knowledge of and will never have knowledge of, things Merlin will never forgive him for doing. _The worst part is, it was my bullet, my gun, my finger on the trigger._

_I woke up when the first raindrop landed on my face, and I shook you awake, but by then it was already too late. I pulled you to your feet and we ran through the rain, to the cave where we left our bags and your supplies, the cave where we should have slept in the first place. We were soaked to the skin and shivering, so bloody cold, and the way you smiled at me, like waking up half-drowned in the middle of the night was the best thing that ever happened to you… That was when I knew._

_He was just a boy, and I shot him dead. Because he would have shot me. Because some fat bastard with a fancy badge told him to climb out of that hole and charge into hell. Because they told him it was the right thing to do, and because he was stupid enough to buy into their bullshit, same as I was._

_Not when I knew that I loved you, because I’ve known that pretty much since the day I met you. That night, huddling in that cave, desperately trying to get warm again — that was when I knew it wasn’t just me._

_Because he was born on the wrong side of an imaginary line some arrogant bastard drew in the dirt. Because they made us enemies when really we’re just people, and he was just a kid and I shot him in the head._

_Just a smile, that smile, and I knew it wasn’t just me. I knew, and you knew, and I don’t know who moved first, if I kissed you or you kissed me and I don’t think anything on earth has ever mattered less._

_Because it was him or me and I didn’t want to die. Because I’d rather be a murderer than never see you again._

_I miss you, love. I miss you so goddamn much,_

_And you can never know, not ever, because I know I’m not much of a partner but you love me anyway and knowing what I’ve done will change that._

_and I’m counting down the minutes until I see you again._

_I love you, Merlin, and the only thing that’s going to get me through this war is knowing that you’re far from it, that you aren’t going to be the body in No Man’s Land with a bullet in his head and a mother who’ll never get to bury her son._

_I love you, and I’m so ready to stop travelling, to find a house somewhere where no one will ask any questions, where we can be together and happy, where I can find a job and you can work on your art and… I don’t know, love. I just know that I want there to always be an and, another tomorrow and another first and. And._

_All my love,_

_Gwaine_

He puts the letter aside, waiting for the ink to dry, and addresses the envelope — _M Emrys, 7A Oak Street, Ealdor_ — in his neatest writing, because it’s going to pass through so many hands and across so many countries and Gwaine needs to know that it’s going to get there safely.

The creases as he folds the letter are sharp, precise, and Gwaine slides it into the envelope and tucks the flap underneath: there’s no point sealing it properly, not when it’ll be opened and read half a dozen times to check he’s not revealing military secrets, as if the grunts in the trenches even know any secrets to give away.

_Soon_ , he thinks, pressing the envelope first to his forehead and then to his heart, holding it close for a moment. Then he stands, wiping as much mud from his uniform as he can, and goes to find a mailbag.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set during the First World War, and as such features battlefield violence. Whilst I don't think there's anything graphic enough to merit using the archive warnings, there is mention of the death of a unnamed soldier at Gwaine's hands, and ensuing angst about this.


End file.
